by Carol Buhler
“How do you know about any of this?” Pepper asked. His shoulders quivered with the need to run, disappear. No one should know this stuff.
“Your instructor worked for me off and on. He is now dead.” Pepper started and Firth held up a hand. “Natural causes. Lung cancer. Fortunately, you don’t smoke or consume any of those vile drugs he indulged himself in.” Firth paused and stared at Pepper, who’d known of his teacher’s vices.
“On his deathbed,” Firth went on, “he set me on your trail. I need a replacement and I think you would serve me better than ever he did. I couldn’t count on him to bring me the accurate information I needed, you see, before making decisions that he carried through. You, I’m sure, will.”
“I’m not looking for a job.” Pepper sat back and subtly rolled his shoulders, staring defiantly into Firth’s eyes.
“Oh. You’re happy grubbing through rice paddies all day? Being tormented by your bunk mates and ignored by the women you work with? I’d thought you’d want more.”
Firth leaned back in his own chair and challenged Pepper with his dark glare. Neither had spoken for several minutes when Firth waved at the bar and ordered himself another drink as well as another for Pepper. Barry delivered them before the man spoke again.
“I anticipated your reaction. So, I’ve come to offer a bribe.” Again he flung up a hand as Pepper started to rise. “You don’t need money—probably won’t take it anyway. But I have information you will want. It was hard to come by, but I finally have it, along with proof.” He held up both hands, fingers spread. “I’m going to reach into my vest pocket and bring out some photos. I have no gun; I wish you no harm.”
Pepper nodded, brusquely this time, intrigued. He couldn’t image what this Firth fellow might have to show him. Hopefully, it wasn’t something that involved Bonami or Byron.
Firth reached his right hand slowly into his left vest pocket and brought out a small packet of photos wrapped with a band. He undid the band and placed one photo on the table between them, turned so Pepper could readily see it. An older man, who looked like Pepper himself would look someday if he lived to be the age of the guy in the picture, glared at the camera as if he hated it. He snapped his eyes to Firth.
“Your grandfather, Reginald von Straus. You and your brother are sons of his only child and heir, Roland.” Firth placed a second photo on top the first. This man had blond hair and blue eyes, rounded cheeks, and a merry smile exactly like Byron’s.
Pepper couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. It had to be true. The second photo was old, but clear. He looked up, gathered his wits, and said, “Where did you get these?”
“At the manor owned by your grandfather. I had them stolen from the lock-box they’ve rested in for over twenty years.” He lay down another. “The wedding photo of your parents—your mother was Charlotte Guilford, a miller’s daughter.” A paper followed: the marriage certificate signed and stamped with a Bonn city-state seal.
“You see, the problem was that you were conceived before their marriage and you were born before Roland brought his family to meet his father. Your grandfather never accepted you as legitimate offspring, claiming you didn’t resemble anyone in the von Straus line.” He fingered the first photo, and then put another beside it. “You look exactly like him when he was your age.”
The photo was very old. My grandfather at age 25.
Firth was still talking. “He treated your mother like a whore and refused to present her, or you, to the ‘family.’ Worse, she wasn’t from what he considered the right sort even though your father proved to him they were married and you were his son. When Byron was born, the old man refused to look at him. It was a strained household, and then, your father was killed in a hunting accident when your brother was only three months old.”
Pepper felt numb, as if the life had been sucked out of him. The noise from the bar faded and for the first time ever, he thought he might collapse. The memories of the house, the servants, the flowers, his mother. They were real.
“He threw us out,” he whispered.
“He did.” Pepper didn’t mistake Firth’s tone for sympathy. It was more like a prod for him to do something about his grandfather, and then commit himself to Firth’s enterprises.
Two more papers dropped onto the table. “Your birth certificate. And your brother’s. You are Laird von Straus, grandson and heir to the extensive von Straus manor and fortune in western Bonn.”
Pepper narrowed his eyes in consideration, then said, “And you want me to do what with this information?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? I want you to claim your birthright, then join me in my business endeavors. We could be partners, or I could hire you outright at a goodly fee. That choice is up to you. Either way, we’ll grow an empire for ourselves.” Firth’s voice shifted into sarcasm. “Or would you rather slop around in rice fields until you waste away into nothing?”
Despite the feeling in his gut that it would be a mistake to ally himself with this Remé Firth, he didn’t care to return to the rice. “Where is this manor of my grandfather’s?” he asked gruffly.
Chapter 13
Pepper stared through the hole in a huge hedge at the pink granite house across a wide spread of grass. The place was huge and well cared for. He couldn’t, however, wrap his mind around the thought that it could actually belong to him. He was the oldest and had been openly acknowledged by his father if not his grandfather. According to Firth, he was the only heir. What would I do with it now?
He’d bought new clothes and hired a taxi to bring him to the property from the nearby town of Straton. Once at the gate, his nerve failed him and instead of ringing for admittance, he’d slunk along the outside looking for a spot to peer through.
Gads! I don’t belong here. But mother and Byron should have been here, instead of the slums of Bonn.
His anger flared and he stalked back to the entry gate, punching the call button as if it were an enemy’s jaw.
A voice responded, “May I help you?”
Following Firth’s suggestion, he said, in his very best Bonn pronunciation, “Laird von Straus to see my grandfather.”
The voice at the other end of the connection gasped and it sounded like the receiver had been dropped. Scuffling noises and frantic whispering came across the line. The gate began to swing open before the voice returned. “Please, come in, sir. Welcome.”
He stepped through the gate and walked sedately toward what had to be the front door. Servants in black and white uniforms poured onto the steps before the door, forming a vee of smiling faces for him to pass. At the top stood a tall man, bald, straight-backed and stiff but smiling like he was truly happy.
When Laird stopped, the man bowed. “Welcome home, young master. We are very pleased to greet you.”
Pepper glanced at the others. They all seemed extremely delighted that he was there. Why? He recognized no one, but not one questioned his identity.
A plump, old woman bustled forward and beamed into his face. “Young master. You were just over two when HE sent your mother and the baby away. I’m so glad you grew into such a splendid man. Are your brother and mother not with you?” She glanced around as if she was short-sighted and they must be somewhere nearby.
Recognition flared to life. “Mamie Maude,” he breathed. She beamed even grander, if that was possible.
“Yes, young Laird.”
“I’m sorry. My mother died long ago. And Byron is extremely sick in Bonn. He could not come with me.” Pepper found himself lying easily to this old woman who’d been his and Byron’s nurse. He vowed at that moment to never, ever let these people know what really had happened after his grandfather banished them. The love radiating from this woman, this stiff butler, the others, was strong enough to bowl him over. With their greeting, he couldn’t help but wonder if his grandfather was as awful as he’d pictured as he’d traveled to the manor.
The butler waved him to enter saying, “Sir Reginald is sleeping at the momen
t. He is not well and rarely comes out of his room this time of day. I will show you to your room.” The man looked up the drive. “You have no luggage?”
Pepper forced lightness into his tone. “I didn’t know if I’d be staying past my meeting with my grandfather. I didn’t bring things with me.”
“No matter,” the butler said jovially. “We’ll rummage around in the attics and get you a proper suit to wear at dinner.”
Pepper tried to protest but was ignored as the butler forged ahead through a wide, marble-floored foyer and started up the curving marble stairs to the second floor. Serving women and men scurried around them, headed who knew where, chattering without restraint at the “Master having come home.” Pepper felt more out of place by the moment as he followed Ludo, the butler.
His room was immense, with a big bed covered in a hunter-green spread and topped with myriads of green tinted pillows. Benches, chairs, and chests lined the walls, several topped by full length mirrors, all cushioned in various shades of green and yellow. A broad window looked out over the grass he’d seen earlier.
“We’ll draw you a bath and have appropriate clothing ready within the hour,” Ludo said as he indicated the attached bathroom. It was as big as any Pepper had ever seen.
“Why do I have to wear something other than this?” Pepper tried to stop the hustling butler from getting carried away. He had no intention of spending more than one day in his grandfather’s house.
“Sir Reginald is old-fashioned,” Ludo responded as he turned on the water spouts in a double-wide tub. “He’d refuse to see you in that modern clothing.”
“So, you’ll do what?”
“Find some of your father’s things for you to wear, of course. You look exactly the right size.” Ludo hurried out the door before Pepper could stop him. Two grinning men passed him in the doorway, bringing towels and what looked like a long robe. They supervised the tub filling, often checking the temperature and adjusting the water flow. Pepper had to insist they leave him to bathe himself.
As promised, the same two men brought clothes within the hour. Pepper was resting in the robe on top of the coverlet when they entered and appeared to want to dress him. He quickly discovered he needed their help as he had no idea how to fasten the complicated closures of either the shirt or dark blue coat. The trousers he managed, but he had to wear his own shoes as his feet were much bigger than his father’s had been. One of the men wrapped his neck in an intricate cravat that stuck up so high it chafed his chin.
He felt tightly constrained and uncomfortable. If this is what I would have had to put up with, maybe my early years weren’t so bad.
He demanded that the two leave him alone until dinner was called and, once they were out of sight, he slipped his throwing knife around his neck to hang on its thong down between his shoulder blades, slid two others up his forearms, and tucked his best blade into the sheath he attached to his right calf. Around his waist, he wrapped the belt of killer tricks he never felt fully dressed without, covering it with the sash that seemed to be an essential part of this ridiculous outfit.
Although he sensed no danger, he wasn’t going to be stupid and unprepared.
Ludo came for him shortly and as he escorted Pepper down the hall, he seemed nervous. Pepper said bluntly, “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
The butler sighed, his face sinking into an unhappy frown. “Sir Reginald is not happy that you are here and I’m concerned that he will treat you unkindly.” The man stopped and turned to face him. “It’s been hard these several years. Sir Reginald was difficult before your mother left. He’s been almost impossible to please since he’s grown ill and...”
“And?”
The man finished in a rush. “And we’re all hoping for a change since you are back.”
Pepper stared at the butler’s unhappy face. “Do you not know why my mother left with Byron and me?”
Ludo dropped his head to avoid Pepper’s stare. “No, Master Laird. Just that she was very unhappy after your father died. We figured she went back to her home.”
“I see.” Pepper felt his anger rising. His grandfather had hidden his selfish acts, even from his staff. They, apparently, had cared a great deal for Charlotte and had no idea what his grandfather had done to her. He wouldn’t tell them; no good could come from it. But, if his grandfather tried to treat him the same way, he’d deal with the vicious old man his way.
The butler flung the door to another room open, stepped inside, and announced, loudly, “Master Laird von Straus.” He moved to the side and Pepper strode aggressively in, his eyes taking in the entire room in quick glances. The only person was the old man he quickly recognized as his grandfather. The table was set for twelve but the only seat occupied was at the end where Sir Reginald slouched. He definitely looked ill—his skin an unhealthy white, his hands shaking, his eyes closed.
They snapped open and he glared. “How dare you come here—claiming to be my dead grandson. Get out!” The old man struggled to rise and a skinny, dark-skinned man hurried to his side to help. Pepper eyed the side door the man had come through, ready for more to charge him.
“Get out, I said.”
Pepper continued to stride toward the pair, the old man leaning heavily on the other; the two of them seemed ready to topple at a harsh breeze. No others came through the side door and Pepper relaxed a bit.
“I came to thank you for what you did for my mother. For my baby brother.” He allowed all the scorn and hatred he felt to infuse his next word, “Grandfather.”
“Get out, I said, you scoundrel, you black-a-moor.” The old man was wheezing but continued to shout. “You are no more my grandson than Ludo there! And that woman—that Charlotte—was nothing more than a whore, trying to foist her bastards off onto me. I got rid of her alright!”
Behind him, Pepper heard Ludo gasp. So much for keeping that a secret.
Sir Reginald bent almost double with a coughing fit and the skinny man struggled to steer him back to his chair at the table. Pepper slipped his hand into a pouch on his belt, passed it quickly over the glass of water sitting ready for the old man to drink, and then stepped back as the aide snatched it to help his master down it. The coughing stopped, the enraged shouting did not.
Pepper spun on his heel and started toward the door. The croaking voice followed him. “Run, you coward. Run like your mama did. You’ll get nothing from me—ever. Good riddance to you and your mother!”
As he passed Ludo, face set in a still mask, he cared nothing for what his grandfather yelled. He’d done what he’d come to do. He’d change out of the ridiculous outfit and be on his way back to town even if he had to walk.
But Ludo reached out and stopped him. “What did he mean, Master Laird? What did he do to Missus Charlotte?”
Pepper took a deep breath to cool his anger and slow his racing heart. “He sent her, sent us, away—with nothing. She died in the slums of Bonn of the coughing disease.” He looked up and glared into Ludo’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s over and I’m leaving.”
Ludo became even more distressed. “But what do you mean? What’s over?” The hall was filling with frightened servants, the ones who’d greeted him with such welcoming smiles earlier in the day. Pepper tried to harden his resolve.
“What’s gonna happen to us—all of us who’ve worked here all our lives?” Ludo went on.
“We have no place else to go.” That was Mamie Maude’s voice.
Others cried out, frightened, he was sure, at the sneer on his face. I’m no more Master Laird than Bonami is. I’m just a damned good killer. They don’t need me here.
The thought of Bonami brought to mind his brother as he’d last seen him and he felt his face relax as an idea bloomed. “I’m going to go get out of this outfit. No, I don’t want your help.” He paused and glanced at various servants, catching their eyes with his. “You all meet me in that dining room in a half hour. My grandfather will be gone by then. We’ll talk about what’s going
to happen to you.”
He turned his back on their cries and questions, strode up the stairs to the room he’d been assigned, ripping off pieces of his jacket, neck-scarf, sash, and shirt as he went. He stripped off the trousers and pulled on the casual suit he’d arrived in. Checking that all his knives were in place, and his belt safely around his waist, he left the room, striding back toward the dining room.
His grandfather was lying on the floor, dead as Pepper knew he’d be. Ludo stood over him, wringing his hands in despair. The skinny man slouched beside him looked decidedly ill. “Did he drink the water, too?” Pepper asked, indicating the aide.
The miserable man nodded.
“Ludo, get me that glass over there.” When Ludo brought the glass, Pepper put something in it and handed it to the aide. “It will make you feel much better, I promise.”
The aide grimaced, then did as he was told. Pepper ignored him after.
He glanced around. “Is this everyone?” he asked Ludo.
The butler answered, “Even the gardening team is here.” Ah. That’s that group of men over there frowning. I didn’t see them earlier.
“Okay. Here’s my deal. You all can stay here, caring for this place as you always have.” Pepper paced as he talked, feeling their stares on him, but also noticed fearful glances at Sir Reginald stretched out to the side. “Ludo will be in charge. Anyone who wants to leave can ask for a reference and will receive it via Ludo. I will send for my brother—some of you will remember him as Byron.”
He stopped and closed his eyes. Then, he called Mamie Maude to his side and purposefully gentled his tone. “My brother is an extremely handsome, powerfully built man. However, he was badly injured in a fight...” He had to swallow before he could continue.
Mamie Maude grabbed his hand and stroked it. “Tell us about the wee babe.”
That made Pepper smile and helped him continue. “He’s not a wee babe, but he might as well be. His brain was severely damaged. He remembers almost nothing about our life...” Again, he tapered off, his throat threatening to close altogether.
